


Coffee Time, My Dreamy Friend

by Roccolinde



Series: The Seasons Will Change Us New [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Slow Burn, featuring Ser No Ignition In This Fic, it's the minigolf AU I won't shut up about, they get a cup of coffee on a rainy autumn day, well smuldering burn, with hidden platonic boners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde
Summary: When Brienne had left Dusken-Regis, she had found a certain humour in the fact that her whirlwind summer tale had been one of friendship. She was quite sure that such a thing would have sent her teenaged self into a maddening pit of despair, certain that she would never find love, but as an adult she was more than happy that her potentially boring week on the English coast had been so well diverted. And when it had come to an end, she had exchanged numbers and expected nothing to come of it.Jaime Lannister, it seemed, had other plans.---Part Two of the minigolf AU
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: The Seasons Will Change Us New [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516898
Comments: 68
Kudos: 162





	Coffee Time, My Dreamy Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, I am back with the second fic in the minigolf AU, this time a short one-shot that I'm sure is interesting to _someone_. For those new to the world, this series began with [I Do Like To Be By The Seaside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832212/chapters/49521137), where Brienne and Jaime meet and become friends during the annual Stark/Lannister-Baratheon summer holiday. That's about all you need to know for this one, which is really more of a bridge to the next multi-chapter fic in the series. 
> 
> The promised platonic boner ended up... not being explicit. See if you can spot it. 😂 Title is from a Cole Porter song, because apparently "Absurd old song lyrics" is how I'm titling this series. 
> 
> With many thanks to bethanyactually for the beta, and to SarahToo for the headpats and venting space.

When Brienne had left Dusken-Regis, she had found a certain humour in the fact that her whirlwind summer tale had been one of _friendship_. She was quite sure that such a thing would have sent her teenaged self into a maddening pit of despair, certain that she would never find love, but as an adult she was more than happy that her potentially boring week on the English coast had been so well diverted. And when it had come to an end, she had exchanged numbers and expected nothing to come of it.

Jaime Lannister, it seemed, had other plans.

It had started easily enough: a text saying he would be in Edinburgh over the October half-term and they should grab coffee. She’d replied in the positive, expecting it to be the typical British politeness where you said _oh we absolutely must catch up _and then didn’t, and told him to give her a day closer to the time. 

This acquiescence had apparently been taken as permission to message her whatever came to mind, usually when he was bored, and the topics were…wide-ranging, if nothing else. Goading little questions, like if she had ever played rugby (_bet you would be awesome, HoneyBrie_), and factoids of his own day (_First week down. Yelled at by 3 parents. Not as mean as you though, I’m bored_) and, very occasionally, a question about the job that usually ended up with her phoning him to discuss it. The man was exasperating, but not as exasperating as the way she began to smile when she saw a message from him. Really, the whole just highlighted how few friends she had that were not also her boss, and _that _was a depressing revelation, but by the time late October rolled around she had to concede that Jaime could be counted amongst them. 

_Meet the Teacher nights are every one of the Seven Hells_, he texted one night, late enough she was getting ready for bed.

_Haha, _she replied, toothbrush still in her mouth, hesitating only a moment before adding, _We still on for coffee next week?_

His reply took long enough, or at least seemed to, that she began to regret the message. Rinsing her mouth, she moved into her bedroom and was putting the phone on charge when the screen lit up with a reply.

_Unless you prefer dinner?_

***

They settled for coffee in the end, a flurry of text messages making them realise that their free time only overlapped for about an hour on Wednesday afternoon, but as Jaime grabbed a table near the large picture window that overlooked one of Edinburgh’s narrow side streets he realised he was truly looking forward to it. He’d spent years hearing about the Starks’ nanny from his niece and nephew, but he hadn’t been prepared when he actually _met_ her. The woman was a godsdamned force of nature and a refreshing breath of air at the same time, and he _liked_ her. She was stubborn and kind and slyly funny, and, perhaps more importantly, he liked who he was when he was with her; she had very little use for the cynicism that defined so many of his interactions with his family and his job, and it was nice to set that shield aside. 

Pulling out a book and his laptop, he started making notes while he waited. A few minutes into it his brain registered the ding of the bell at the door; Brienne was a few feet from the table when Jaime glanced up, and he smiled at her wind-chapped cheeks and tousled hair.

_Fuck, you’re tall_, was his first thought, as if he’d somehow forgotten in the last two months, but had the sense to realise that was hardly an appropriate opening line. Unfortunately, his brain didn’t work quite quick enough to catch his second thought before it exited his mouth, so his first words to her as she reached the table were an incredulous, “How are your eyes real?”

“They’re not,” she said, removing her russet-coloured scarf and tossing her messenger bag over the back of her chair. “Contacts.”

“Oh—”

She snorted with laughter and slid into the chair opposite him. “No, the family calls the colour Tarth Blue, we all have it. Well, my mother didn’t, she used to—not the point. How was the journey up?”

Jaime grimaced. “I thought I’d take the train, which was both longer and more expensive than just grabbing a flight.”

“Ooo, rookie mistake,” Brienne said, laughing. 

“In my defense, I haven’t been north of Hadrian’s Wall since Cersei was at school.”

“Oh, where did she go?”

“St Endrews. She was angling for an HRH in royal studies.”

It took her a moment, probably doing the mental math, but then Brienne began to cackle, infectious and loud and honest. “She _didn’t_.”

“She _did_. My brother spent a ridiculous amount of time telling her she should call Myrcella _Catherine_. I thought she might actually murder him.”

“_Brilliant_. I take it your brother is…” She waved her hand vaguely.

“Not a self-absorbed prat?” Jaime offered. “I wouldn’t say that; he’s still a Lannister.”

“I was going to say more like you than like Cersei, actually,” she reprimanded with a small smile.

“Nahh, Tyrion’s more…himself than either of us. And possibly the most like our father, or would be if he didn’t spend half his life metaphorically giving the old man the finger.”

Brienne laughed again, then tilted her head towards the counter. “I’ll grab the drinks, what do you want?”

“Coffee?”

“Try to sound a little less uncertain, Jaime,” she teased. “Surely you have _some_ sort of preference.”

“Hot and strong,” Jaime said.

Brienne rolled her eyes and headed to order, and Jaime used the time to shove his laptop and book in his bag, and check the alarm was set on his phone. He had a suspicion that the hour would go by faster than anticipated, and Arthur had pulled too many strings for this afternoon for Jaime to miss it. He shook the thoughts from his head when Brienne returned, toting two coffees and the single biggest brownie he’d ever seen.

“It’s _amazing_,” she explained, setting it all out. “But way too rich to eat alone, so you’re going to have to help me.”

Jaime took a sip of his coffee, which was hot, strong, and delicious. He gave her an appreciative smile, picking up a knife and reaching across the table to split the brownie in half.

“I, Jaime Lannister, shall do my level best to aid you, HoneyBrie,” he said, before placing a hand over his heart as if making a pledge. “I will make it my solemn duty to eat this baked good, however difficult it might be, however my waistline struggles...”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I do not understand why I agreed to this,” she said. 

“I’m just that charming,” he said, grinning.

“Or I’m just that desperate,” she replied, raising her cup to her lips, her long fingers overlapping on the white ceramic. “How are the kids?”

His smile fell, and so did hers when she realised what she’d asked. It was perfectly polite small talk, except...

“Uhh, good,” he managed, then added more sincerely, “Somewhat. Cersei’s—from what I’ve heard third-hand, Joff’s expected to remain where he is for at least another six months. Refuses to participate in his treatment, apparently. And Cersei is still fuming, so I’m not allowed to see the other two.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, reaching across the table to give his hand a squeeze. 

“Me too,” he replied, giving her a half-hearted smile as if to reassure her it was nothing truly dire. Her hand stayed on his though, even as he said, “I mean, I do see them at school and the staff are willing to look the other way if the kids spend their lunch break in my office, but I can’t… I’m not putting them in the middle of things, so it’s had to be ‘Mr Lannister.’ If my sister hears otherwise, she’ll pull those kids, and then…”

Then they’d be even more isolated. Brienne squeezed his hand again in understanding, and his thumb stroked against hers absently. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” she said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I’ve gone and made this awkward—”

“No!” he said, then smiled as he admitted, “Well, a little. But I’m glad you asked. It’s nice to be able to talk about it, rather than ignore the elephant in the room.”

Brienne nodded, pulling her hand away. “If you ever need to talk, or vent, you can call me. It’s what friends are for, right?”

It was such an unfailingly earnest offer that Jaime looked down at his coffee. 

“Friends or therapists,” he said dryly, familiar defenses rising even though he knew she meant no harm. The plate with the brownie was pushed towards him, a silent offer of truce; he broke off a piece and let the flavour melt on his tongue. She was right, it was _delicious_. 

“You didn’t say why you were in Edinburgh?” Brienne said after a moment, clearly looking for a change of subject.

_That_, at least, he was happy to talk about. With her, at least, because she’d understand. So he did, explaining how he’d fallen away from his work with Arthur Dayne due to circumstances—he called it the most trying 18 months of his life, though he spared her the details of Cersei showing up at his flat, six months pregnant and in hysterics that Robert was cheating, or the derisive way she’d called him an idiot when he’d offered to help her leave; his mother’s cancer diagnosis and death; his brother’s self-medication and hasty marriage; his father’s determination to take his grief out on anyone who dared look for happiness when he was not; Arthur’s heart attack that led to his move north—and how her enthusiasm for his book had made him realise how complacent he’d become, how little challenge his position at St Visenya’s gave him. 

“So I emailed Arthur, thought he might have some ideas of where to look first, and he invited me up for the week.”

Brienne looked at him. “You just…emailed Arthur Dayne. And got an invitation.”

“Yes? I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

Jaime had found her incredulous embarrassment at discovering he was _the_ J. Lannister that co-wrote her favourite book hilarious, but it had nothing on the look of sheer horror that crossed her face at his offer. Her mouth silently opened and closed several times, and then she gave a small shake of her head.

“No, no, that would…no,” she said. “No, thank you. I’ll just… At least with _you_, I knew you were an insufferable prat _before_ I realised. Makes you far less intimidating.”

“Right, and I also didn’t single-handedly drag Britain into what _might_ be the 21st century on the special education front,” Jaime said, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “The first time I met him, I was more nervous than when I met the Queen. Which, no, not actually an interesting story so we’ll pretend I didn’t say that.”

She was still looking vaguely horrified, so he pushed the brownie back towards her. Equilibrium through chocolate. 

“_Anyway_,” Jaime said, once she’d taken a bite from her piece, her tongue darting out to lick the crumbs from her lips, “he invited me up and it was nice to know he remembered me fondly enough to—anyway, it was just supposed to be a little thing, only… There’s a student, this year. Admin’s wanted to kick them out since the third week of school—it’s not phrased like that, of course, it’s all about ‘the comfort level of the students’ and such, but we all know what is meant. I’ve been fighting it and their parents are stubborn enough they aren’t bowing to the more delicate suggestions, but I’ve only managed to buy us until Midwinter break to make progress.”

“The students you’ve talked to me about?” Brienne asked. 

“One student,” he confirmed, which was about as much as he could reveal, and she worried her bottom lip for a moment.

“That’s a tight turnaround for progress,” she said. “Even if schools aren’t chaos in the Midwinter lead-up. They’re not setting you up for success.”

“Nope,” Jaime agreed. “Arthur’s managed to put me in touch with some people who are experienced with the student’s diagnosis, which is why my schedule is so tight now. I’ve got to head back a day early to chat with someone in London, and I’ve got another meeting in—” he checked the time on his phone, “just over an hour. But I didn’t want to miss coffee, so…” he shrugged. 

Brienne’s broad smile really did draw attention to her eyes, making the colour even more vivid as the skin at the corners crinkled in delight. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “Do you have time for another cup?”

***

After what might have been the most loaded start to a conversation—Brienne decided that she was steering clear of Lannister-related topics unless Jaime raised them first—the rest of their coffee…meeting? That sounded unnecessarily formal; she’d have called it a coffee date if the word _date _wasn’t so laden with subtext, but it was. Well, whatever she called it, it was going well. They had moved on to lighter topics, and she’d had to deter Jaime with a well-timed nudge of a fork when he finished his piece of the brownie and moved towards hers, and it was…nice. They’d sort of veered into intimacy in strange ways—she’d known his deepest secret before knowing he’d had a brother, and the totality of her information about his home was ‘somewhere in London’—and the conversation had the potential to be strange as a result. But they talked and they laughed and it was nice to have a friend, or the beginning of a friendship at the very least.

She was just thinking she would have to leave soon—Rickon had swimming at half-four, so she’d need to pick him up—when Jaime’s phone went off. He picked it up, swiping off the alarm as he said something about having to leave for an appointment. Brienne wasn’t particularly paying attention; her hand had darted across the table to grab the phone from him, confirming what she already knew at a glance.

“Why am I on your lock screen?” she asked, staring at it. 

It was the selfie Jaime had taken of them both after their—frankly disastrous—game of minigolf; she was turned half-away, clearly laughing, and Jaime was grinning at the camera and being what could only be described as obscenely beautiful. They ought to put that jawline in a museum for the masses to appreciate. Preferably without the rest of the man, because he’d open those pretty lips and say something aggravating within twenty minutes. Still, the photo made her smile, even if the amusement at the ridiculous memory was quickly swamped by embarrassment. 

“It’s a good picture of me,” Jaime protested, snatching the phone back and shoving it into his bag. “And I had a good time. Where are your manners, HoneyBrie?”

“Couldn’t you have, like, cropped me out?” 

He looked deeply, deeply offended. “No? That was our shared victory, Brienne. The pinnacle of my athletic career. The highlight of my life.” He paused for a moment, pretending at seriousness. “Well, aside from meeting Arthur that first time, but there’s no photographic evidence of _that,_ and you should be grateful, because I was the most awkward-looking fifteen year old. There were _braces_, Brienne. _Braces_. And a bright purple and teal windbreaker.”

“Is it too late to pretend I’ve never met you?” Brienne replied flatly.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ for maximum aggravation. “We’re friends, despite my sartorial flaws. I’ve got the picture to prove it.”

Brienne shook her head. Even on their short acquaintance, she knew there was no getting through to him when he got like this. And it _was_ a good photo.

“Can you send it to me?” she asked. “Just in case I start to believe you’re a very vivid fever dream, which would honestly make more sense.”

Jaime grinned, standing to shrug on his woolen peacoat. “Sure thing, HoneyBrie. I’ve really got to run for this meeting, but I’ll make sure I send it to you tonight.”

A glance out the window as she gathered her own things told Brienne that it had begun to rain.

“Do you have an umbrella?” she asked, nodding towards the drenched street outside.

“No, but the bus stop isn’t far. I’ll have to—”

Brienne pulled her spare umbrella from her bag, a seashell print in red and gold she’d once grabbed after a sudden downpour, and handed it over.

“It’s hideous, I know, but I like my other one too much to give it up. Consider it another one of your sartorial flaws.”

Jaime held it up. “I rather think it suits me,” he said, which, annoyingly, it almost did. “Thank you.”

They both headed towards the door, Brienne opening it and motioning him through. As Jaime opened the umbrella and stepped into the rain, he turned back.

“I’ll give it back, next time I’m in Edinburgh,” he said, lifting the umbrella slightly to indicate what he meant. “Unless you happen to be in London first.” 

She watched him walk away before turning the other direction, smiling slightly as she opened her own umbrella and stepped out from beneath the awning. 

When Brienne had left Dusken-Regis that summer, she had expected nothing to come from what was, in all probability, a mere situational friendship. As she left the coffee shop on a rainy October day, she was glad to be proven wrong. Jaime Lannister was unexpected, in more ways than one, but she certainly didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to make him her lockscreen though. 


End file.
